


Station House 4 & A Baby

by ChibiDawn23



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: Station House 4 (all of them)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:35:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25388422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiDawn23/pseuds/ChibiDawn23
Summary: "He's not a *baby*, Higgins, he's a little boy! And he's not just *any* boy, he's witnessed a murder." George and Watts decide the safest place for a young potential witness is Station House 4. Which is handy, considering he won't let go of George Crabtree. What begins as a purely professional assignment soon gets very personal not only for George, but all of Station House 4.
Relationships: William Murdoch/Julia Ogden
Comments: 21
Kudos: 48





	1. Prologue

**_PROLOGUE  
The Reardon Hotel  
9:15 PM_ **

_Where is he?_ _He's got to be here!_

Constable George Crabtree's pulse was pounding as he played his torch around the room, lighting up every nook and cranny possible for a boy to be hidden in. In the room next to him, he heard Henry call out, "This one's clear!" and then footsteps jogged down the hall and into the room.

"Any sign of him, George?" Constable Henry Higgins asked.

George shook his head. "No," he said grimly. "Not yet." He crouched down, searching the area underneath the bed. Through the broken floor and walls, he could hear the other men calling out for the boy. _I've got to find him. It's my fault he's in trouble, I couldn't live with myself if something happens to him tonight._

The Reardon Hotel had sat in ruins ever since the Great Fire a few years ago, while the city rebuilt, dealt with Robert Graham, and returned to glory. The four-story hotel had gone through several bidding wars from several different prospects, but nobody had been willing to take the final leap and say they were going to remodel the place. Inspector Brackenreid had urged caution to all his men, knowing that the building was unstable, and one wrong misstep could mean going through the floorboards on the upper floors to the lobby. He and the detective were down on the street with a contractor they'd drug out of a nearby pub, looking at the blueprints for obvious hiding places.

George didn't know where the boy was, but every second that he wasn't found meant that he was in danger...and so were the men of Station House 4.

"This is where you saw him run off to, right?" Higgins asked, testing a spot on the floor with his boot. It creaked a little too much for his liking. He gingerly stepped over it.

"No, I'm _not_ sure, Higgins," George said tersely, harsher than he'd meant to. "I was too busy having my arse handed to me. This was the general direction I saw him take off to. Now shut up and let's keep looking!" Henry held up his hands in acquiescence and didn't take it personally. At least not _too_ much.

George was doing enough of that for the two of them already.

_But then again_ , Henry thought, feeling a lump settle in his stomach as he began looking in the room next door, _the kid's grown on me, too._ He'd never admit it out loud, though.

The floor creaked under George's boots and he paused, listening. No other sounds of wear, so he took another step. _This whole place could go at any second. Damn building's a hazard. We need to get out of here, fast!_

It happened so quickly he didn't have time to react. One moment, George was standing on solid ground; the next, he heard a resounding crack, and the floor fell out from under him. He didn't even have time to cry out.

" _George!"_ Henry yelled, as he watched his partner disappear through the floor.


	2. Chapter 1

**_Toronto, Ontario  
_ _8:45 PM  
_ _Two days earlier_   
**

George Crabtree was thankful for his torch as he led Detective Llewellyn Watts down the laneway. The lamps didn't reach this far back. The full moon overhead didn't quite light the ground here, the buildings were so close together, casting shadows any manner of things could hide in.

He wasn't scared of the dark. He was scared of what could be _hiding_ in the dark.

"Sir, I don't even know how they managed to find her," he told Watts as they moved further down. "Whoever phoned the station said he tripped over the body, and I'm inclined to take him literally."

"Do we know who called it in?" Watts asked, practically in George's ear, he was walking so close behind him.

"Anonymous," George said, waving a hand in the air. "From somewhere around here. Ah."

He stopped so short that Watts, hunched over and looking at his feet, barreled into him from behind and nearly knocked them both over. George managed to right himself, grateful for the darkness that hid the scowl he was currently shooting the detective's way.

"She's here," George said, regaining composure, and shone the light down on the body lying slumped against a brick wall.

Detective Watts crouched down next to the body to examine her. "I would say cause of death is obvious," he noted, nodding to the deep purple and bruising around her neck. He held his hands out, just above her neck, curled his fingers in slightly.

"Looks to be about right," George nodded. He glanced around. "No windows on this side, not likely anyone will have heard or seen anything."

"Even in well-lit, highly trafficked areas, that is usually the case," Watts pointed out. "We'll know more once Miss James has examined the body-" He broke off. "Did you hear that?" he asked suddenly.

George froze instantly, listening. He could hear sounds from the street, and what was maybe a rat scurrying off further down. "Sir?" he frowned. "I-I don't-"

_There._ George trained the light further down, the beam catching on a pile of garbage about ten feet away from them. Something moved in the light, the torch illuminating a set of eyes from behind the garbage pile. The eyes blinked, and disappeared.

"Ah, you saw that, correct?" Watts asked George.

George nodded, putting a finger to his lips and dousing the light. He walked slowly toward the pile, one hand on his light, the other reaching for his night stick on his belt. George counted about four more steps, and then flicked the light on. "Don't move!" he ordered, as he stepped around the garbage pile-

-and gasped.

Watts had come to join him. "What is it, George?" he questioned.

George nodded slowly to the thing in question.

Watts cocked his head to the side. "Well."

Hunkered down, trying to conceal himself between the pile of refuse and the wall, was a little boy. He couldn't have been much older than five or six, George thought, with a shock of dark hair and dark eyes. He was dirty, though tears had run a clean path through the dirt on his face. The clothes he wore were ill-fitting. He kept trying to make himself small and shrink away from the light.

George glanced up at Watts, and handed him his night stick and torch. Watts looked at both objects as though he wasn't quite sure what to do with either of them. George bent down, the sudden movement causing the boy to throw his hands over his face and pull his legs in close to him. George swallowed uneasily-he hadn't meant to scare him. "Hello," he said quietly. He scooted back just slightly on his heels, giving the boy some space. "Young man, I'm a constable. What's your- _oof!_ "

At the word 'constable,' the boy threw himself at George, knocking him onto his arse. Little arms and legs wrapped themselves around George's chest in a vise grip. He buried his face in George's shoulder and squeezed. George grimaced in pain as he slowly brought his arms around the boy's back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "It-it's all right," he stammered, patting the boy on the back gently. "Y-you're safe now."

He looked back up at Watts, who was watching with his usual curiosity. "What in the hell is he doing here?" George whispered.

Watts raised one eyebrow back toward their body. "And what, if anything, does he have to do with our dead woman?" he wondered aloud.

The boy dug himself deeper into George's uniform, and he shot Watts a Look.

* * *

_**STATION HOUSE 4  
9:30 PM** _

"Who's your friend, George?" Constable Henry Higgins teased his friend as George sat down slowly in his desk chair, his newfound friend still attached to him. The boy hadn't let go of him since leaving the crime scene.

George eyed Henry and shrugged his arms, the movement made difficult by the boy clamped onto his upper body. "Believe he has something to do with our b-uh, that is, our B-O-D-Y," he spelled out, remembering the boy's reaction at Watts's early statement.

Henry frowned, and George rolled his eyes at Henry working out the word he'd spelled. Before George could make a snarky response, he caught Detective Murdoch's eye over Henry's shoulder and awkwardly got to his feet. "You know," he told the boy, adjusting him on his hip, "you're safe now. You could let go."

The boy tilted his head up to look at George, and then reburied himself in the crook of George's neck. George sighed. "It's all right," he mumbled. "Imagine I'd be the same way." He made his way into the detective's office, ignoring the stares of McNabb and Winton, who were both watching him with amused looks on their faces.

Detective William Murdoch closed the door behind George. He looked the constable up and down. "Do you…wish to sit down?" he asked.

George shook his head. "All due respect, sir?" he said, nodding at the boy, "It's more comfortable to stand," he admitted.

Murdoch nodded. "I see. And…who is this?" he asked gesturing to George's hanger-on.

"Watts and I found him in the laneway a few feet from the, uh…" George trailed off, and made a face. He saw the detective nod; he understood, and continued, "At first he was terrified of the both of us, but as soon as I told him I was a constable, he latched on and hasn't let go since!"

"Has he given you his name?

"He hasn't spoken at all, sir," George reported. He rested his hip against Murdoch's desk. "Sir, the way he was hiding, and _where_ he was hiding," he began, taking the boy's hand off his shoulder and tucking it next to the boy's chest, "it suggests to me that, well…maybe he might have seen what happened."

"And so you and Detective Watts have a witness to your mu-" Murdoch paused at the look of alarm on George's face, and quickly corrected, "-your crime."

"Yes sir," George agreed. "I believe we do."

"Where is Detective Watts?"

"Sir, he accompanied the body to the morgue," George told him. "Imagine he'll be by shortly."

Murdoch glanced at his watch. "Has child services been contacted regarding him?" he asked, nodding to the boy.

George shook his head. "Haven't had a chance, sir. It's probably too late for them anyway," he noted.

"You're right," Murdoch said. He thought for a moment. "He could probably sleep in the cells tonight; I believe they're empty."

"The cells, sir?" George winced. At Murdoch's questioning look, he explained, "Well, sir, it's just that, he's awfully young, and if he indeed bore witness to the events of this evening, well…" He glanced at his shoes. "I don't imagine staying the cells would be helpful to, um, to dealing with that." George coughed. "And, sir, I don't imagine there's enough room on one of those cots for the both of us, seeing as how he's stuck tighter than a tick to me. And I'd take him home with me, but it's likely Mrs. Keening would try to charge him rent!"

"Very well, then, George, what would you suggest we do with him?" Murdoch asked.

George shrugged his free shoulder. "Maybe the Inspector's office?" he suggested. "Since he's out celebrating his anniversary, he won't mind, I don't think. And, it's warmer, there."

"And since it would appear that your young friend sees you as his savior," Detective Watts's voice cut in, startling George and the boy, "perhaps you could sleep on the floor next to him." He looked down at George and the boy. The boy had dug himself even further into George's uniform jacket. "Er, that is, if you can get him to let go of you," Watts amended.

"Watts, you really need to stop doing that!" George chided the detective. "If he gets any more attached to me, he's going to end up my Siamese twin!"

"Let's reconvene in the morning," Murdoch suggested. "George, let's get Henry to round up something for you to sleep on, and see if we can't get your friend on the couch."

* * *

The boy refused to let go.

At first, it had been sort of endearing, but now, George was tired, and his ribs ached from the deathgrip on them, and he was frustrated by the whole thing. Angry that someone killed a woman, and that this boy had to bear witness to it, and the fact that everyone was staring, not looking forward to a night _not_ in his own bed with his own pillow... "Oh, come on, now," George urged, taking a seat on the sofa. "You'll be much more comfortable here than hangin' on to me, b'y." His accent was thick with sleep and frustration. With his free hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose and took a breath. Apart from the night shift, he and the boy were the only people in the station, which was helpful, as George and his 'friend' had become quite the spectacle. _Less people to stare, now_ , he thought.

He tried to think back. Had he ever been like this growing up in Newfoundland? What might his aunts have done?

He bit his lip as an idea came to him. Gently, he settled the boy until they were both seated, with the boy in a position to at least look at him, should he ever choose to take his head off George's shoulder. "Look, know you're scared," George told him, softening his voice much like his Aunt Azalea did when he'd not been well. "And I'm sorry that you saw whatever it was that you saw tonight. Nobody should have to see that- I don't even like it myself, and I see much worse what seems like every other week."

George closed his eyes in frustration. _This was not going the way I wanted it._ "But, here, look," he said. He took his hand and lifted the boy's chin so the boy was looking at him. He smiled. The boy really was a cute child, when he wasn't stuck to George like a leech. "We're in my station house," he told him, pointing out the windows into the bullpen. "A-and look, that's Constable McNabb, and Constable Winton, and out there at the desk is Constable Armstrong. They're my friends. They're going to help keep you safe." He caught McNabb eyeing him curiously, and he cleared his throat and ducked his head. "I'm going to be right here," he assured the boy, pointing down at the thin mattress Higgins had nicked from one of the cots in the cells. "Right here. I'm not going anywhere. You're safe, for tonight," he promised the boy. "All right?"

To his shock, the boy let go of the twist of George's uniform fabric that he'd had knotted in his fist for most of the night. George let out a breath, relieved. "Besides," he said, sliding the boy onto the couch, "my Aunt Petunia says I'm all bones. I won't be that comfortable to sleep on. This'll be much better for you." He patted the couch and eased the boy so that he was lying down. _It just won't be for me, is all._

The boy tucked his hands under his head, still watching George. His eyelids drooped.

George unbuttoned his uniform jacket and piled it at the head of the mattress to use as a pillow, then shrugged out of his suspenders and shucked his boots. He lay down on his side, so that he could look at the boy, and watched him until he drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 2

George awoke with his new friend sleeping next to him on the floor.

Somehow, the boy had cuddled up next to him and managed to drape George's arm over his middle without George knowing it during the night. He shook his head in amusement and then grimaced as he raised himself up on his elbow. _Another night of this just won't do_ , he winced. He supposed that was why the cells were outfitted with this particular mattress-one night on one of these, and a degenerate would reconsider _all_ his life choices!

_New dawn, new day_. George gently shook the shoulder of his new friend. The boy was out like a light, and George decided to just let him sleep. He sat up and retrieved his uniform jacket, shaking it out in an attempt to get at least some of the wrinkles out of it. The Inspector's mantle clock read eight a.m. George buttoned his jacket with one hand as he opened the office door with the other. Henry wasn't at his desk, but he spotted Detective Watts putting on his hat and moved to join him.

Watts eyed him from under the brim of his hat. "I see you didn't get much sleep last night," he noted matter-of-factly.

_Detective Watts, master of the obvious._ George rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't miss the feel of prison-issue mattresses, that's for certain," he confided. "Are you on your way back to the crime scene?"

"Indeed I am, going to see if the dawn brings some new clues to light, so to speak," Watts replied. He glanced over George's shoulder to the inspector's office. "How is your young friend this morning?"

George looked back, then to Watts. "Still asleep," he said. "Can't say that I blame him. Oh, did Miss James confirm cause of death?"

"The young woman was strangled," Watts replied. "And your friend is no longer in our pool of suspects, as Miss James places the hand marks on her neck to be that of an adult." Watts touched the brim of his hat and brushed past George heading for the front door. At the divider between the bullpen and the front desk, Watts turned and nodded to George. "Also, you're not wearing any shoes." With those as his parting words, Watts stuck his hands in his pockets and left the station house, leaving George looking embarrassedly down at his stocking feet. McNabb snickered and George whacked him in the arm.

A thought occurred to George as he made his way back to retrieve his boots. _Wait—he thought that the boy…_ _Anybody could see that those hands_ -He sighed. Watts was an odd one.

* * *

He was working on writing up his observations from the night before when someone touched him on the shoulder. George jumped, and looked back to see the boy from the alley standing behind him, looking as if George has scared the living daylights out of him. "Sorry," George apologized. "You scared me, too." He ran a hand over his face. "I'd recommend not sneaking up on people like that," he advised the boy. "Did you sleep well?"

The boy bit his bottom lip and nodded. "Good," George told him. He motioned for the boy to come stand next to him. "I am just, ah, writing up what happened last night." He glanced sideways at the boy. "Don't suppose you'd like to tell me what you saw?"

The boy shook his head fiercely and latched onto George's arm. _So much for typing the rest of this_ , George sighed. "All right then," he continued. "Well…perhaps we should start with something easier. What's your name?"

All he got was a stare. "You can give it to me, or I can make up something for you," George offered. _Was I this contrary when I was his age?_ He made a mental note to telephone his aunts to apologize. _Then again, if I'd seen whatever this boy might have, I wouldn't be as inclined to venture any information either_.

"Better give it to him," Henry Higgins said, plopping down across from the two of them into his chair, "or you'll end up with something awful like-like Adolfo or Thelonius or something."

George raised an eyebrow. "Oh and _Hieronymus_ was a perfectly reasonable choice?"

Henry closed his mouth and George rolled his eyes. "Higgins, Watts is at the crime scene, tell him or Detective Murdoch when he gets in that we've gone out for some breakfast. And for that crack about my naming skills, you can get your own pastry this morning." George ignored the look on Higgins's face and grabbed his helmet, transferring the boy's hands from his arm to his fingers and escorting him out onto the busy street.

* * *

The two of them sat on a bench a few minutes later, tucking into a couple of breakfast pastries George had purchased at the diner, getting some very confused stares from the usuals that frequented there in the mornings when he was on patrol. The boy was thoroughly enjoying his, George noted. "That's pretty good, eh?" George chuckled. The boy didn't respond, too into his breakfast to reply. George polished his off and brushed the crumbs off his uniform pants. "Well, how's about we head back to the station, see what Detective Murdoch-or, I suppose, Acting Inspector Murdoch-wants to do with you now." He picked up his helmet from beside him and flipped it over with one hand, depositing it on his head.

The boy's eyes widened, his jam-smeared mouth open in an _o_ of awe. George looked at him, and tugged his helmet off his head. "Oh, you, ah, you liked that trick?" he questioned.

He nodded eagerly. George flipped it from his hands to his head and tapped the brim. The boy's smile grew wider. "So, then I've got an idea," he told the boy, an idea forming. "I'll teach you how to do that, if you give me your name? Fair trade?" He waited, watching the boy's face as he finished his treat and rubbed his hands together to get the leftovers off.

He turned to George, and nodded shyly. George grinned, and demonstrated the trick over again. Then, he handed the helmet to the boy. "Both hands, now," George instructed. The boy awkwardly fumbled the helmet before placing it on his head. It slipped so that the brim came perpendicular to his nose, covering his eyes.

George laughed and tilted the helmet up to look at the boy's face. He looked so damned proud of himself, and George gave him a round of applause. "Well done," he congratulated him. He raised an eyebrow. "And a deal's a deal," he reminded him.

The boy's gaze flickered around them, and he was quiet for a moment or two. "Tobias," he said finally. He couldn't quite pronounce his _s_ , so George heard it as, "Tobiath."

"Tobias." George tried it out. "Well, it's nice to meet you officially, Tobias," he said. He stood up, offered the boy a hand. "Come on now, let's go see if the Detectives have found anything out."

* * *

When George and Tobias returned to Station House 4, Detective Murdoch was in for the day. "Sir," George tapped on the door glass and stepped into his office.

"George. Good morning." Murdoch looked from George to the little boy standing shyly next to him. "And, good morning to you, young man," he said, glancing up at George.

George put a hand on Tobias's shoulder. "Since you weren't formally introduced last night, Detective Murdoch, this is Tobias. Tobias, this is the greatest detective that Toronto has ever seen," he said, nodding to the detective, who turned a slight shade of pink at the hyperbole. "Detective William Murdoch."

The two of them sized each other up before Tobias whispered a shy, "Hello."

George grinned at Murdoch. "Sir, has Detective Watts returned from the crime scene yet?" he asked.

"Not yet," Murdoch replied. "I expect him back shortly, however. What about Tobias; has he been able to tell you anything about last night?"

"No, sir, unfortunately, any mention of it sends him, well," George directed Murdoch's gaze with his eyes to Tobias, who was firmly reattached to George's leg. He gave the detective a look as if to say _see what I mean_?

Murdoch nodded. "Perhaps Dr. Ogden could sit down with him," he suggested.

"Couldn't hurt to try," George shrugged. He untangled Tobias from his leg and bent down. "Tobias, there is a lady who would like to talk with you and ask you some questions."

Tobias shook his head fiercely. George looked up at Detective Murdoch. "What if…what if I were to sit in with you?" he asked. He looked at the Detective. "Sir, I know it goes against protocol, but perhaps we could make an exception?"

Murdoch studied Tobias carefully, and then nodded. "I don't see why not," he said. "I'll telephone Dr. Ogden and have her come down to the station house. In the meantime," he said, glancing over George's shoulder, "it would appear Detective Watts has returned."

George nodded. "Of course." He tugged on Tobias's hand. "Come along," he told him. As they headed for the door, Tobias stopped, his eyes looking at something on Detective Murdoch's desk.

The two men looked at him. Tobias was eyeing a set of fingerprint cards on the detective's desk. George looked at Murdoch. "Sir," he suggested, "perhaps you'd like to tell Tobias about those?"

The detective's eyes went wide and George grinned inwardly. Working with children was not the detective's strong suit, but Watts was back and he figured whatever the other man had found, it was probably better that Tobias didn't hear. "A-and, I'll be right back," he added, ducking out of the office, leaving Murdoch at the mercy of the boy.

"What did you turn up, Detective?" George asked him.

Watts sat down in his desk chair and propped his feet on the corner of it. "Still no name on our victim," he said. "I…spoke to several people in and around that neighborhood, but no one recognized her photograph."

George nodded grimly. "She could be new to the neighborhood." _Or not want to be found._

"And ah, Miss James found skin and blood under her fingernails."

George looked at him quizzically. "Oh," Watts realized. "Under the victim's fingernails."

"That makes more sense. She put up a fight." He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking of Tobias. What the boy may have witnessed the prior evening was becoming more disturbing by the moment. "Where do we go from here?"

"Oh, I'm not beaten yet," Watts assured him. "All people need food and basic supplies. I'll ask around at the local market and see if I can't determine more. It would be helpful, George," he suggested, "if you could get your friend to tell us where he lives."

George shrugged. "I mean I can try it, but he's not been forthcoming with much." _Speaking of_ …George glanced up to see Murdoch bent over his desk and Tobias nowhere in sight. His eyes widened and he jogged over to the door. "Sir?" he asked. "Where-"

Murdoch stepped back from his desk chair. Tobias was seated in the detective's chair, his fingers covered in black ink. "I thought perhaps," Murdoch said hastily by way of explanation, "that Tobias might be willing to tell us about last night if I demonstrated how we catch criminals."

George leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest. "And so you _fingerprinted_ him?"

Murdoch gestured to the boy. "He asked!" he defended himself.

George raised an eyebrow. "Oh, he did, did he?" Tobias nodded eagerly, wiggling his ink-stained fingers in the air. George pushed off the door and came into the room. "So," he said to Tobias. Not wanting to jump straight to the crime, George tried a different tack. "Tobias, do you suppose today you could you show me where you live?"

Tobias nodded. George nodded. "That's great," he said. "Sir, maybe we'll be able to find something there that tells us more about his family. I-"

There was a tap on the detective's window glass, and everyone looked up to see Dr. Julia Ogden in a blouse, tie, and skirt. "Ah." George pointed to Dr. Ogden as Murdoch motioned her into his office. "Tobias, I'd like you to meet our friend-"

"Julia," Dr. Ogden supplied, smiling at Tobias.

"Uh, Julia," George stumbled over her name. _That's…going to take some getting used to_ …he blinked. "Ah, a-and this young man is Tobias," he introduced the boy, gesturing to him.

"Hello, Tobias," Julia said, bending down to greet him. "Well, you're a handsome young man, aren't you?" she noted. He ducked his head shyly. Julia looked up at George and Murdoch. "Tobias, if it's all right with you," she said, looking at him, "I'd like to talk to you about last night."

The boy shook his head fiercely and shrank back in his chair. "J-Dr. Ogd-" George stuttered. He closed his eyes, took a breath and tried again. "Could you give me a moment with him? We'll meet you in the Inspector's office?" he asked, his eyes asking Murdoch the question.

The detective nodded. "Julia," he offered her a hand, and the two of them left the office, leaving George alone with Tobias.

"Hey," George told him, placing his hands on the chair's armrests, an idea occurring to him. _Tobias is so fascinated with police work…_ "Last night, when I told you I was a constable, you knew right away that you could trust me, right?"

Tobias nodded. "Well, all right then," George said. "The way I figure it, Tobias, if you're going to be stuck to me all day, the least we can do is make it official. How would you," here he poked him in the nose, much like his Aunt Azalea had used to, "like to join Station House 4?"

The boy's eyes widened and he nodded slowly. "Good lad." George pushed off the chair and stood, helping Tobias up. He picked him up, setting him on his hip, and walked out into the bullpen. He stood Tobias up on his chair, earning them both a _very_ confused look from Henry.

"Lads!" George called out. His fellow constables on day shift came into the bullpen and gathered around. Detective Murdoch and Julia ducked out of the Inspector's office to see what was going on. George cleared his throat. "Lads, this here is Tobias," he explained. "A fine, strapping young man of-" He paused, and looked up at Tobias. "How old are you, Tobias?"

Tobias held up five fingers.

"-of five years old!" George continued, with fanfare. "Lads, young Tobias is about to become the youngest constable _ever_ in the history of the Toronto Constabulary-perhaps even in all of Canada!"

Several of his fellow officer's faces dawned understanding, and George turned his attention to Tobias, who, he noticed, was standing a little taller. "Tobias, you're about to join some of the finest and toughest men you'll find anywhere. Hard working, trustworthy, and loyal to a man! Men who- who've got each other's backs. Isn't that right, lads?"

There was a murmur and nodding from the gathered crowd. George turned to Detective Murdoch. "Sir," he said, "as you're the ranking man at the moment, would you like the honors?"

Murdoch looked as flustered as George'd ever seen him. He saw Dr. Ogden give him a nudge, a huge smile on her face. The detective coughed, and stepped forward. He shot George a Look that plainly said, _What am I supposed to do here?_

George grinned. "Just play along, sir," he whispered. "Make something up!"

The detective was silent for a moment. Then, Murdoch clapped his hands together. "Right." He looked up at Tobias, who towered over the room. "Ah, Tobias. Do you promise to uphold the laws of the good city of Toronto? To be brave, and look out for your, um, fellow constables?"

He nodded eagerly.

Murdoch looked at George. George looked at Tobias. "Say, 'Yes, sir,'" he prompted in a whisper.

"Yes, sir!" Tobias yelled, his face turning very serious as he looked at the detective. Light laughter spread through the group.

"Very good, Tobias." Murdoch turned to George. "George, may I have one of your lapel pins, please?"

George unfastened one of the 4s from his collar, and handed the pin to Murdoch. "Tobias, by the power vested in me by the City of Toronto, I hereby proclaim you Constable Tobias of Station House 4!" He pinned the little number 4 on Tobias's shirt collar.

The men broke out into cheers and applause, all except for Henry, who still looked lost. Several of the men came forward to shake Tobias's hand, and welcome him to the station, George noted with satisfaction.

_Good lads, all of them_ , he thought to himself, a smile playing on his lips. As the fanfare died down, George turned to Tobias. The look on his face was like Christmas had come early.

"Well. Now that you're officially a constable, like me," he began. "Would you…would you be able to tell the detective and Dr. Ogden what happened last night?"

A flicker of fear shone on the boy's face. "Remember, a constable is brave," George reminded him. "And as your partner, I'll be right there."

Tobias glanced through the windows into the inspector's office. Then, he nodded once and hopped off the chair.

"Good lad." George offered Tobias a hand. The boy took it with both of his. George gave his fingers a squeeze…and remembered what Murdoch had been doing with Tobias before he'd come in. He groaned inaudibly. _Great_.

"Come on, Tobias, let's get those hands washed, first."


	4. Chapter 3

**_Near the Crime Scene  
_ _9:45 AM_   
**

Detective Watts tipped his hat to a pair of ladies walking down the street. "Ah, excuse me, ladies, I wonder if you had seen this woman?" he questioned, offering the photograph of their Jane Doe to them.

One gasped and covered her mouth, while the other merely gave it a glance. Watts chose to focus on the latter, as hysterics meant he was less likely to get any sort of coherent information. "Do you recognize her?" he asked.

"I do. That's Laurel," she told him.

Watts waited, but she didn't say anything else. "And?" he prompted. "What can you tell me about her?"

"Laurel works with us down at the laundry," the first woman said, sniffling. "She, um, she was very quiet, but always friendly." She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and looked up at Watts. "Is she dead?"

"I'm afraid so," Watts replied. "She was discovered last night, in an alley a few blocks away. Tell me, Miss…"

"Carol," she supplied. "Carol Anderson."

Watts looked at the other woman. She was strangely quiet, and looking at Carol disapprovingly. "Ms. Anderson," Watts continued. "Did…Laurel, live around here?"

Carol looked at her companion. "I, um, I'm not sure," she said. "Katie, did Laurel ever say where she lived?"

"She never said hardly a word 'less you spoke to her directly," Katie said shortly.

Watts turned his attention to her and squinted at her. "Your tone of voice," he said, "it suggests to me you found that unfriendly, or…rude, somehow?"

"I knew she was trouble the moment she started working," Katie informed him. Watts looked at Carol, who seemed to be in agreement with the other woman, though not as…vehemently.

"Perhaps she was just shy," Watts offered. "It would appear to me, ma'am, that you're more than capable of doing enough talking for the entire laundry."

Katie gasped, but it elicited a short bark of laughter from Carol. She looked apologetic as she said, "I'm sorry, to be laughing, at a time like this but, you've got Katie pegged, and Katie, you know it," she added quickly as Katie opened her mouth to object. Carol's laughter faded and she looked down at the ground. "Laurel kept to herself, as Katie said," she said quietly. "She told me once she had just moved here from America, and that she'd found room in a boarding house."

Watts nodded, putting the photo in his breast pocket and shoving his hands in his pocket. "Did she happen to tell you where that boarding house might have been?"

Carol worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "Not really," she said, "just that it wasn't far so she didn't need us to walk home with her." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "Perhaps we should have," she said.

"Likely we'd have met whatever fate she did," Katie said flatly. She looked at Watts. "If that's all, Detective, I should get Carol back to work, our lunch break is nearly over." She took Carol by the elbow, and brushed past him.

Watts gave them a head start, and then followed after them.

* * *

_**STATION HOUSE 4  
** _ _**10:00 AM** _

George sat down next to Tobias on the couch in Inspector Brackenreid's office. The boy couldn't stop playing with the #4 on his collar. He didn't even look up when Detective Murdoch closed the office door and took a seat behind the inspector's desk, while Dr. Ogden moved a chair over to sit in front of the other two. She smiled at Tobias. "Well, Constable Tobias," she said, and the boy beamed. "Would it be all right if I asked you some questions?"

Tobias paused, his fingers still fiddling with the pin. He looked over at George. He nodded encouragingly. The boy looked back at Julia and bit his lip. Then, he nodded.

"Wonderful. You're five years old, is that right?" Julia began.

Tobias nodded, holding up five fingers again. George leaned back, resting an arm on the back of the backrest, watching intently.

"Tobias," Julia said, "did you know the woman in the alley last night?"

Tobias's fiddling became more intense. George glanced over his head at Murdoch. _I'd take that as a yes_ ,he thought, but knew they needed to actually hear it. "How do you know her?" Julia asked him.

The boy looked up at George. In a friendly, but firm tone, George reminded him, "Remember, constables are brave." He held Tobias's gaze as the boy stared at him. "It's all right," George said.

Tobias nodded as he turned back to Julia. "My sister," he said quietly.

Julia reached out a hand and squeezed his knee as George's heart sank. "I'm so sorry to hear that, Tobias," Julia told him, glancing over at Detective Murdoch. "Tobias, can you tell me what happened last night?"

"I was playing outside."

George frowned. "At night?" he asked.

Tobias nodded. "I'm not allowed to during the day," he whispered. "The bad man might see me."

"Who is the bad man?" Julia prompted him.

Tobias shook his head. "I don't know. I've never seen him. But she told me that he was looking for us, so we had to hide from him. I'm good at hiding," he added.

George thought of the garbage pile. _Yes, you are_ , he agreed silently.

"Tobias, was your sister playing outside last night too?"

"No. She was at work."

Julia frowned. "So you were playing by yourself in the dark?"

Tobias nodded again, and looked down at his feet. "I wasn't s'posed to," he said. "But it was too hot in the house, and she was late. I went to go find her. I thought she was playing too."

He craned his neck so he was looking at George. "Did the bad man hurt her?" he asked.

George sighed, and dropped his arm from the back of the couch to Tobias's shoulders. "I think he might have," he answered honestly.

"Is he going to hurt me too?"

"Absolutely not," George said firmly. He looked up at Murdoch and Dr. Ogden. "No, we're part of the same team, now, and we're not going to let that happen."

* * *

**_Around the Crime Scene  
10:15 AM_ **

Watts raised an eyebrow at the 'boarding house.' It was worn down; paint peeling from the siding, loose shutters, and a well-worn rug outside the door. As it was the only thing even resembling a place one might habitate, he assumed it was the boarding house that Laurel had spoke to her coworkers about. He rapped hard on the door, and waited. Then, once more, harder.

No answer.

"Dunno why you're knockin'," someone said from behind him, and Watts turned to see a portly man sitting on a three-legged stool across the street. Watts shuffled over to him. "Ain't nobody lived there in months," he informed the detective. "Place used to be Maud Sinclair's," he explained. "Maud died months ago and the place's been derelict ever since. Nobody wanted to take it over, not worth the investment to fix it up."

Watts frowned. _Why would Laurel say she lived here if it was abandoned?_ He produced her photograph from his pocket. "Do you…know this woman?" he questioned. "She claims to have lived here."

The other man gave it a glance, then shook his head. "Never seen her," he replied. "But I tell you nobody's lived in that place for a long time, so she's clearly lyin' to ya."

_Indeed_. Watts thanked him and walked back across the street and around the corner. He spotted it around the back of the building-a cellar door. He looked around, and pulled hard on the handle. The door swung open with ease, and Watts let himself into the building.

The basement smelled musty, and dust filled the air. He could see it in the little sunlight that the grimy windows let in. _Middle of the afternoon and one needs a torch to see anything_ , he thought to himself. He looked around in the dim light. In a far corner, his eye caught something bright red, and he made his way over to it. His hands retrieved a red blanket from the floor, which had been covering a threadbare mattress. Next to the makeshift bed, he spotted something else. He bent down and picked up a wooden top from the floor, turning it over in his hands. The spindle on the bottom was worn almost flat from lots of use. He could see small trails in the dust on the floor.

Watts straightened, and made his way to the other side of the bed. A small suitcase was resting against the wall. Watts knelt down and popped the locks. Inside, he found a woman's dress, paisley patterned, and a little boy's trousers and button-down shirt. As he moved the dress aside, something poked out of a pocket in the skirt. Curiously, Watts fished for the object, pulling out a white folded piece of paper.

_I found you_.

"Hm. Just who is 'I' and who did I find?" Watts thought aloud. He placed the note back in the suitcase and snapped it shut, intent on taking it to the station. As he turned to go, he noticed something sticking out from under the pillow on the bed. He stuck the suitcase under one arm and took it out with his other hand. A small, square photo frame with a picture of the woman from the alley, and George's new friend.

"She wasn't living here," Watts realized. "They were _hiding_ here."

* * *

**_STATION HOUSE 4  
11:30 AM_ **

Constable McNabb was acting as the desk sergeant for the afternoon, and he was eating his lunch at the tall, square desk. McNabb felt eyes on him, though he couldn't see anyone. On an impulse, he leaned over the desk to see a tuft of dark hair. Tobias was looking up at him, barely visible. "What are you looking at?" he asked him.

The boy shrank back, just a little. McNabb glanced down at his lunch, then at Tobias. He dug around in his sandwich wrapper and produced a pickle. "You hungry?" he asked.

Tobias nodded, eyeing the pickle. McNabb reached over the top of the desk and handed it down to him. "You ought to tell Constable Crabtree he needs to feed you," he told Tobias with a wink. Tobias crunched the pickle, wincing at the sour taste. McNabb chuckled. "Not a fan?" he asked.

Tobias nodded, taking another bite. He heard George calling his name, and he gave McNabb a small wave as he turned and trotted back over to his new friend. George looked at him and spotted the pickle in his fingers. "Oh," he realized. "I'm sorry, Tobias, I was so busy with some work that I forgot to eat." He smiled. "Though I see that didn't stop you, did it?"

Tobias pointed to the front, and George caught McNabb's eye, giving him a nod of thanks. The other man gave him a jerk of his head. "How about we get you something to go with that pickle?" he asked. Tobias nodded eagerly, popping the rest of the pickle in his mouth.

"Ah, George," Detective Watts ambled into the bullpen, a suitcase tucked under his arm.

Tobias halted mid-step, eyes affixed to the suitcase. "Tobias?" George questioned. Watts looked between the two of them, as if he wasn't sure who George was talking to. George remembered that Watts hadn't been there for Tobias's 'swearing in' ceremony. "Uh, Detective Watts, meet Tobias," he said by way of introduction. "Tobias, you remember Detective Watts, right?"

The boy nodded, never tearing his gaze from the suitcase. "Did you find what you were looking for?" George asked Watts.

"Indeed I did," Watts replied. "Perhaps you would like to have one of the other constables get this young man something to eat and we can…discuss?"

"I'm a constable!" Tobias announced with a smile, grinning up at Watts.

Watts looked almost as lost as Higgins had, and George couldn't help but laugh. "I'll explain later," he told Watts. "Ah, Constable Winton?"

Winton, a tall, skinny man with a thin black mustache, raised his head from his desk at his name, and joined the three of them. He patted Tobias on the head and the boy beamed. "Would you be able to take Tobias down to the corner for a hot dog?" George asked him.

"Of course," Winton gestured and Tobias went out ahead of him. He glanced back at George, and George nodded, silently letting him know it was all right. That the boy had come out of his shell so much in less than a day, George thought, was a huge victory.

He turned to Watts. "All right, Detective," he said. "What have you?"

Watts was still looking at Tobias. He turned to George and cocked his head to the side. "And…how, _exactly_ , is he a constable?"


	5. Chapter 4

**_STATION HOUSE 4_   
**

Tobias rolled the dice, and his face lit up in delight as he moved his piece and ascended the ladder up from the square, several rows higher than his previous position. The boy grinned at Higgins.

Higgins heard Baker snicker from behind him. Several of the men had gathered around to watch the two battle it out in a game of Snakes and Ladders. So far, Tobias was winning, much to Higgins's chagrin.

"You're not _letting_ him win…are you, Higgins?" Baker questioned. Lutz elbowed him in the ribs, winking.

"No!" Henry said, trying to sound indifferent. His facial expressions said otherwise, however, but Tobias was oblivious to it. Lutz ruffled the kid's hair.

"They've taken quite the shine to him, haven't they?" George noted as he and Watts gathered in Murdoch's office. George leaned against Murdoch's writing desk so he could have one eye on the proceedings out in the bullpen.

"He's a hard one to dislike," Watts pointed out.

"Indeed," Murdoch replied. "Gentlemen. Shall we go over what we know so far?"

"Please," Watts said. "Perhaps seeing it written out will give new insight into what so far appears to be unsolvable."

Murdoch raised an eyebrow and looked confusedly at George. "Ah, Detective Watts has rethought his stance on chalkboards, Sir," George said by way of explanation.

"I see." Murdoch, chalk in hand, began to outline their case. "At approximately 8:00 PM last evening, our victim, so far only known as Laurel-"

"Laurel Clark," Watts supplied. At George's look, he explained, "I procured the young woman's passport as well as young Tobias's from the suitcase I recovered from the boarding house."

"…Good to know," Murdoch said after a moment. "Very well, Laurel Clark," he continued, "was strangled to death. Miss James's postmortem indicates the handprints around her throat most likely belong to a man."

"And Tobias did ask about the 'bad man,'" George cut in.

Murdoch tapped the board, where he'd written "SUSPECT-MALE" on the board in his perfect penmanship. "Correct. Now, by all accounts, Laurel and Tobias are on the run from somewhere in the United States-"

"Rochester," Watts said. "Their passports," he explained again.

Murdoch exchanged a look with George. He turned to Watts.

"Detective Watts…why didn't you offer up this information sooner?"

Watts shrugged. "You didn't ask."

Murdoch blinked and George stifled a groan of frustration by pressing his fingers into his temples.

Murdoch regained composure first. "George, please make sure to contact Rochester tomorrow morning, if you would."

"Yes, sir," George said, shaking his head at Watts.

"Moving on…Miss Clark took up work in the laundry that's around the corner from the old Sinclair's Boarding House, where she and Tobias were living."

George sighed. "Tobias is a brave sort," he said, "to be left alone to fend for himself during the day while his sister was working. Not being able to go out during the day, no friends to speak of." He was reminded briefly of his own childhood, having to make do quite often on his own imagination. "Sir," he said, "what exactly do we suppose Tobias saw last night? Do you think he actually saw the _murder_ , or happened upon his sister's body after the fact?"

Murdoch shook his head. "That's a question only our young friend out there can answer," he said, and George's gaze drifted to where Baker and Lutz were applauding as Henry pounded his desk in frustration.

"Sir," George said, "if Tobias did indeed see the murder, and if someone is indeed after his sister and himself…there's a good possibility that Tobias is in danger."

"I have thought about that myself," Watts said. "Perhaps it is fortunate that the constables have taken a liking to your Tobias, George. He is well protected here."

" _What in blazes is going on here?"_

The entire office, as well as the bullpen, came to a standstill, as Inspector Thomas Brackenreid strode into view. The head of Station House 4 yanked his hat off his head and tossed it at Higgins, who fumbled it, the game pieces flying. "I take one bloody day to meself and the whole station house has gone to pot?!" The Inspector caught George's eye through the windows, and George noted Tobias had beat a hasty retreat and was hiding behind Higgins, who looked like he wanted nothing to do with him.

George ran a hand over his face. He looked at Murdoch. "Sir, I-"

"No, George, it's all right," Murdoch told him. "We're all complicit," he said, gesturing to the three of them. Before he could open his office door, Brackenreid had burst into the room, making even the laconic Watts jump a little in surprise.

"Murdoch, what in the bloody hell has been goin' on?" Brackenreid demanded. "Higgins is playing games with a child, the men are watching as though it's a bloody cricket match, and-" He looked at the three of them. "And just what the bloody hell have the three of you been doing?"

"Sir, that child is a potential witness to a crime," George burst out. "H-he's been staying here at the station so we can keep an eye on him."

"Which it appears you're doing a bang up job of," Brackenreid barked at him.

"Inspector, Detective Watts and Constable Crabtree have been working on trying to solve the crime," Murdoch explained calmly. He gestured to the board. "See for yourself, sir."

Brackenreid gave the board a quick once-over. "Well," he said after a moment, "good to see at least _someone's_ doin' their jobs," he said, his voice rising on the last few words. George saw Lutz and Baker scramble for their helmets, and Higgins turn back to the stack of paperwork on his desk so fast he nearly ran Tobias over.

The boy looked terrified. George slipped out under the glare of Inspector Brackenreid, and out to the bullpen, where the boy latched onto him instantly. He felt him trembling. "It's all right," he reassured him quietly. "No one is upset with you."

"He sounds like it," Tobias whispered in George's ear.

"No," George replied in a whisper, returning to Murdoch's office. "No, that's how he sounds all the time." Louder, he said, "Inspector, this is Tobias Clark. Tobias, this is Inspector Brackenreid."

Tobias poked his head out from George's leg and looked up at the Inspector. He swallowed. "Good afternoon, Inspector," he stammered. George looked at Murdoch and Watts in amazement. Had it been twelve hours earlier, that probably wouldn't have occurred!

The Inspector eyed the boy. "Crabtree, why is he wearing your pin?" he questioned, but more curious than upset now.

"Uh, Inspector, this young man is a constable of Station House 4," Watts pointed to the boy.

"And a fine one at that," Murdoch agreed.

George nudged Tobias. The boy looked at him, and he gestured at the Inspector with his chin. Tobias took a tentative step out from behind George and offered a hand to the Inspector as George crossed his arms over his chest proudly. "Constable Tobias Clark," the boy said. "It's nice to meet you, sir."

Murdoch bit his lip to keep from laughing at the wide-eyed look of surprise on the Inspector's face. He offered the Inspector a look of, _What are you going to do, sir?_

The Inspector looked at the three adults in the room, then at Tobias. "Constable Clark," he said after a moment, his voice softening _just_ a hint. He waved a finger at George, Murdoch, and Watts. "Are you keepin' these men in line?"

Tobias nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir."

The Inspector nodded. "Good. Keep up the good work," he told him. "And you three," he added, turning to George, Watts, and Murdoch. "I'll need a word before the night's out."

Tobias yawned. "Sir, I think perhaps Tobias and I should be first," George said.

"Ah, why don't I show Tobias the dark room," Murdoch offered, offering a hand to Tobias. Tobias took it, looking back as George followed the Inspector out of the office.

"Is he in trouble?" Tobias asked Murdoch.

Murdoch looked at George's retreating figure as he answered, "Oh, I'm sure he'll be fine."

* * *

Once across the room in his office, George closed the door behind him and turned to face the Inspector. He took a breath and let it out. "Sir, I can explain-"

"Save your breath, Crabtree," Brackenreid cut him off. "I think I can figure most of it out for myself." He poured himself a finger of scotch from the bottle in his desk. "Where are you on this case, then?"

George allowed himself to relax, just a little. "Sir, we know Tobias and his sister are on the run from someone Tobias calls 'the bad man' and that they came to Toronto from the States. Unfortunately, that's all we know as of this moment."

"And what about the boy?"

George shrugged. "As far as we know, the sister was the only family he had."

"But you haven't really looked into it, have you?" Brackenreid asked pointedly.

George opened his mouth…then closed it. "No, sir."

"Crabtree, you can't go gettin' attached to the boy," Brackenreid reminded him.

"Sir, I know that, I just…" George sighed. He _did_ know. He just didn't have an excuse to argue what Brackenreid already knew. _Too late._ He pressed a fist to his forehead. "He's been so attached to me since we found him, I was afraid if anyone else came into the picture, we'd lose our witness."

Brackenreid raised an eyebrow. "Except he's not _just_ a witness, now is he?"

"No, sir," George said, his voice barely above a whisper. _No, he really isn't._

"Right then. Tomorrow, you get on findin' that boy's next of kin. For tonight, you find him a place to bunk down." With a wave of his hand, Brackenreid dismissed George from his office. "Send in Murdoch, will you, Crabtree?"

Brackenreid shook his head. "For Chrissake, I only came into the office tonight to sneak a drink; never thought this'd be what was waitin' for me."

* * *

George jiggled the latch on his window and popped the pane. "All right, Tobias, in you get," he told him. The boy climbed awkwardly around George and toppled through the open window, bumping George's small table with a crash. He looked at George, wide eyed.

George grimaced. "I wouldn't worry too much about it," he whispered. "Folks are used to that sort of commotion coming from in here." He swung a leg over and closed the window behind him. "Right. Ah, Tobias, why don't you take the bed, and I'll…well, I'll figure it out."

Tobias hopped up onto the bed and George helped him with his shoes. "Do you live here by yourself?" Tobias asked him.

George's breath hitched. "I do," he said after a moment, and paused in taking off Tobias's shoes.

"How come?"

"I…" George resumed pulling off his shoes. "Suppose I haven't found someone that's right for me, just yet," he replied. A thought occurred to him. "What about your sister?" he questioned. "Did she have someone?"

"The bad man," Tobias said quietly. George looked at him. Tobias's eyes welled with tears.

"I see. Hey." George got up and parked himself on the bed next to Tobias as the boy sobbed. "We're going to find him Tobias, and we're going to put him in jail for hurting your sister."

"Where will I go?" Tobias asked into his shirt.

George pulled the boy close and gave him a hug. "I don't know that," he said. "But I promise you that you won't be alone. Right? You won't have to hide any longer." Tobias continued to sniffle in his arms.

But he nodded.

* * *

George lay on the floor that night, arms crossed behind his head, as he stared up at the ceiling. He'd turned the lamp out long ago, and moonlight filtered through the window.

He thought of Edna, and Simon. He had been _ready_ , he knew, to be Simon's father. Not his _real_ father, of course, but someone who could step into that role. He imagined Simon was probably a lot like Tobias when he was younger, spunky, resilient. George was a family man, he'd felt sure of it for a long time. And while the right woman had never presented herself (or had, and it hadn't worked out), perhaps...

He sat up, and checked on his young charge. Tobias was out like a light, stretched out under the covers, one hand slung off the side of the bed. George gently moved it back onto the bed and the boy shifted, tucking it in next to his face.

 _No, indeed_ , George thought. _Tobias is becoming much more than a witness_ , he realized.

And that scared him more than the 'bad man' who was out there.


	6. Chapter 5

**_STATION HOUSE 4  
_ _The following morning_ **

"Has George been in yet?" Watts questioned Detective Murdoch as he set the phone receiver back down in its' cradle.

"No, I believe he and Tobias were going to come in closer to noon," Murdoch replied. He nodded at the phone. "I take it you heard from Rochester?"

Watts nodded grimly. "Indeed I did. Ah, they have informed me that they do indeed have a missing persons report filed for a missing woman, though I'm not sure that it is our missing person."

"What do you mean?"

Watts fumbled on his desk for the slip of papers he had been taking notes on. "A…missing persons report was filed for a Rebecca Fisher and her son Travis in Rochester a few weeks ago."

"Did they give a description?" Murdoch grimaced as Watts rooted around through the scraps on his desk.

"Here we are." Watts held up one of them. "Rebecca Fisher, age 25, brown hair, brown eyes, approximately five feet, seven inches tall, one hundred thirty pounds." He paused. "This Rebecca bears a striking resemblance to our Laurel Clark."

"Confirm with Miss James," Murdoch told him. "And the boy?"

"Travis Fisher, age five, black hair, brown eyes, approximately thirty-nine pounds, three feet tall-"

"Which sounds almost exactly like Tobias Clark," Murdoch confirmed. "Watts, I believe that these are indeed the same people that Rochester is looking for. Who filed the report?"

Watts looked at his notes again. "A Mr. Donovan Thatcher," he reported. "Male, twenty-nine years of age, blonde hair, blue eyes." He looked at Murdoch. "Tobias's 'bad man' perhaps?"

"It very well could be. Or just a concerned relative. Get hold of Rochester again and get some background on this Mr. Thatcher as well." Murdoch glanced up as George and Tobias came into the station house, laughing about something. Tobias waved at Armstrong and Winton and the two men gave him a jaunty salute back. The detective couldn't help but smile.

"He is quite a cute child, isn't he?" Julia's voice interrupted, and he turned to her with a smile. She threaded her arm through is as the two of them watched Tobias chase Winton around the desk with his billy club. George looked torn between reprimanding Tobias and wanting to join in.

"That he is," Murdoch agreed. "What brings you by?"

She nodded in the general direction of the silliness in the other room. "Oh, I just wanted to see how Tobias was faring with everything."

"Children are quite resilient, aren't they?" Murdoch murmured, suddenly a million miles away. Julia sensed the change in his mood and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Yes, they are," Julia said. The two of them watched the action for a moment longer, before Murdoch finally blinked.

"I should break that up before the Inspector arrives," he said.

Before he could move into the other room, however, George scooped up Tobias on a pass and walked him into the bullpen. "Good morning, Detective," he greeted Murdoch. Tobias squirmed out of George's arms and stood at attention next to him.

"Good morning, sir!"

Murdoch smiled. "Good morning, Tobias." He looked at George. "I take it you got a little more sleep this time?" he asked.

"It's the pillow," George shrugged. "Uh, any news on the case, sir?"

"Rochester phoned," Watts said, "regarding Tobias's 'bad man,'" he said. "Uh, Tobias, how about a game?" he questioned.

Tobias nodded eagerly. "Constable, could you find me the book with the ah…" Watts snapped his fingers, trying to find the right word. "The book with the eyes, noses and mouths."

George bit his lip trying not to laugh as he nodded. Watts led Tobias into Detective Murdoch's office and sat him down in Murdoch's chair. Murdoch opened his mouth like he was about to protest, but Julia put a hand on his arm and he held his tongue. George sat the book down in front of Tobias. "Right. Ah, young man, I would like you to make me a picture," Watts explained. Tobias craned his neck, looking at the detective in confusion. "This book has different facial features, and I would like you to see if you can make me a picture of your bad man."

Tobias looked at George in alarm. "It's all right," George said. "The picture will help us find him. I know it was dark, but you've seen him before."

Murdoch glanced at him in surprise, and George waved him away as if to say 'in a moment.' George patted Tobias on the shoulder. "You can do this."

Tobias nodded, and started leafing through the photos. Watts gestured for the adults in the room to join him out in the bullpen. George left the door partly open behind him. "Tobias told me last night the bad man was acquainted with his sister," he explained finally. He shrugged. "Possibly romantically."

Watts filled George in on what he'd learned from Rochester. "So it's possible they were running from this Donovan Thatcher, and he followed them to Toronto," George mused. "And then perhaps he found them, or at least, found Laurel Clark."

"And he could be looking for Tobias as well," Julia noted.

Just then, Armstrong coughed, hanging on the fringes of their conversation. The two detectives, George, and Dr. Ogden turned. The silver-haired constable, made a motion with his eyes. "Sirs," he said in a low voice, "there's a man out front wanting to file a missing person's report," he said.

Murdoch motioned for him to continue. "Sir," Armstrong continued, "this man matches the description that Detective Watts received about Donovan Thatcher."

George tensed, looking back over his shoulder at Tobias. "Sir," he reminded Murdoch.

Murdoch nodded. "Armstrong, take him to one of the interview rooms," he said. He looked at Julia. "Will you observe?"

"Of course."

Murdoch straightened his tie. "George, you and Watts see how Tobias is coming with his…picture."

"Sir, I'd like to be in on the interview," George protested.

"No." Murdoch's tone was sharp. "George, you're awfully attached to that boy, and I don't want your emotions getting in the middle of our questioning."

George looked like he wanted to say something, but kept quiet, crossing his arms over his chest. He wanted a glimpse of Donovan Thatcher, but Watts pulled him bodily toward Detective Murdoch's office, pushing him in ahead of him and closing the blinds.

* * *

Donovan Thatcher was an unremarkable man, Julia noted. A young man, with feathery blonde hair that reminded her a little _too_ much of the style James Gillies preferred, and blue eyes. He had come in with a pageboy hat that he was twisting in his hands, hands that were definitely working hands.

"Who is this?" Rebecca James asked, coming to stand next to her out in the hall as Detective Murdoch took a seat across from Mr. Thatcher. Julia squeezed her hand in greeting and nodded to the room. "This is the man who potentially killed the young woman in your morgue," Julia whispered to her.

"I wondered," Rebecca responded, her dark eyes flashing. "Armstrong asked if I would bring in the file with the postmortem results."

"No doubt William wants to have him make an ID and study his reaction," Julia murmured. She tapped lightly on the glass, and Murdoch turned, noticing Rebecca standing next to his wife. He said something to Thatcher, and stepped out of the room.

"Miss James," he said. His eyes wandered to the file in her hand. "I take it that is the postmortem for Miss Clark?"

Rebecca nodded. "Photo included," she confirmed. "Do you think he did it?" She looked at him. He seemed to be nervous, sitting in the room alone, his eyes watching the three of them, trying to make out their conversation.

"That's what I'm hoping to find out," Murdoch explained. "Thank you." He took the file from her and returned to the interview room. Julia and Rebecca stayed, watching.

"Mr. Thatcher," Murdoch said, surveying the man sitting across from him. "I apologize. Please, you were describing your wife."

"I-what?" Thatcher blinked, as if he'd been a thousand miles away. "Oh. Right. Rebecca…she's um, brunette, dark eyes. I-I don't know what she might have been wearing."

Murdoch shifted, producing the photo Miss James had taken of Laurel Clark. "Mr. Thatcher, is this your wife?" he questioned. He slid the photo across to Thatcher.

Thatcher crumbled. "Oh, God," he whispered, a hand flying to his mouth. "I…yes. That's her." He looked up at the detective. "Is she-"

"Mr. Thatcher, your wife was found murdered in an alley two nights ago," Murdoch explained.

Julia noted he was avoiding the topic of Tobias, and she watched Thatcher with interest. He was also leaving out the part that they knew Tobias and Rebecca were recent transplants to the city.

Thatcher rubbed a hand over his face. "Rebecca and I….we got into a disagreement," Thatcher explained. "She stormed out, took our son with her."

_Son._ Murdoch kept his face expressionless. "I see. What was the disagreement about?" he asked.

Thatcher let his breath out. "I-I'm afraid I was the cause of it," he told Murdoch. "See…I was recently laid off my job, and I-I'm not handling it very well." He reached into his pocket, produced a flask. "Rebecca doesn't approve of my choice of coping." He coughed, looking at Murdoch. "She-she's really dead?"

"Mr. Thatcher, did your wife have any enemies that you know of?"

"That I…no," Thatcher blinked. "No. Nobody. Everybody loved Rebecca."

Murdoch nodded. "Mr. Thatcher," he said, but before he could continue, there was another tap on the glass. He looked up to see Detective Watts, hands in his pockets, standing outside with the women. "Excuse me," he excused himself, and joined them in the hall.

Watts looked at Thatcher, then at Murdoch. "That's our man," he said. "Tobias's 'bad man.'"


	7. Chapter 6

Murdoch returned to the interview room with a better idea of who he was dealing with. Julia had noted the man's nervousness almost seemed contrived, like he was acting. "He thinks he's got one over on you," she told her husband.

There was a glint in the detective's eye. "Let's have him keep believing that."

He opened the door and sat down across from Donovan Thatcher again. "Mr. Thatcher, apologies. That was another case that needed my attention."

He saw a flash in Thatcher's eye, like that was an insult. "Of course," he said quietly. "Sir…I've also been meaning to ask. Have you any…any information on our son, Travis?"

Murdoch shook his head. "We've not been able to locate him. I could give you the names of some of the orphanages in Toronto, perhaps someone else has seen him? Or if you can give me a description, I can have our constables on the lookout for when they're on their beats."

"Please." Thatcher sounded appropriately concerned. "I'm worried sick about him."

"Mr. Thather, I need to know where you were two nights ago," Murdoch said.

His eyes widened. "Where _I…_ you can't possibly think-"

"I have to ask," Murdoch said simply. "At this stage, everyone is a suspect." He caught the flash in Thatcher's eyes again.

"I-I was back in Rochester. Looking for Rebecca and Travis," Thatcher told him.

"Do you have someone who can verify that?"

Thatcher gave him a name and Murdoch glanced up at Julia. She nodded and made her way out to the bullpen, where Watts, George and McNabb were talking. She gave the name of Thatcher's supposed alibi to Watts. "I shall contact Rochester immediately," Watts said.

Julia looked at George. "Where is your friend?"

George grinned and motioned for her to follow him. Inspector Brackenreid sat at his desk, signing off on the cases that had been closed while he'd been out celebrating his anniversary. George tapped on his big window, and the Inspector glanced up, gave him a roll of his eyes, and nodded down.

Julia stood on her tiptoes and peered through the window. Tobias was asleep on the couch in the office, head resting on both hands.

"That's adorable," she said. She looked at George. "Any word on his family?"

George shook his head, embarrassed. "To tell you the truth, I-I haven't really been looking." At Julia's Look, he amended, "It's not because I don't want to…" He coughed, and ran a hand through his hair. "I-I mean, we've just been so busy with everything else today that I haven't, ah, had a chance to."

"You really like him, don't you, George?" Julia asked softly.

He turned away from the Inspector's office. "I do. And part of me is being very selfish," he confessed to her, crossing his arms as he leaned a hip against his desk. He said nothing more, looking at the floor. "What's happening with Mr. Thatcher's interview?"

Julia hesitated, knowing her husband probably wouldn't want George knowing the facts. George had been held back for a reason. Yet, George looked genuinely put out for not being included, and her heart went out to him. Quietly, she filled him in on everything, watching the younger man's features darken with every word.

"He's not going to get away with this," George muttered. "I'm not going to let him hurt Tobias any more than he already has."

Julia sighed, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know that you have his best interests at heart," she told George, putting more meaning into the sentence with her voice, knowing that George would catch the underlying message.

George gave her a thin smile. "Thank you, Dr. Ogden," he told her. "I-I should get back to work, I suppose."

"Yes, I'll let you go back to it," she replied. She looked up, noticing Rebecca James standing primly in the doorway, waiting for her. She smiled, and followed the medical examiner out.

* * *

"We have no actual evidence that he committed the murder."

Murdoch had gathered the Inspector and Detective Watts in Brackenreid's office after his interrogation of Donovan Thatcher. "There's nothing physically that ties him to it. Tobias won't tell us what he really saw that night, so we have no idea if he _saw_ Thatcher during the act, or if he came upon it afterwards. Thatcher isn't giving any hints one way or the other if he _knew_ Tobias was present or not."

"Rochester is looking into his alibi," Watts reported, "but it may take some time to run it down."

Brackenreid looked between the two of them. "Then we've got no choice, lads, but to turn him loose." He watched his two men, noting the concern they both shared. "It's either that or Crabtree needs to lean on the boy to get him to tell us what happened that night."

Watts rocked on his heels as he looked out in the bullpen. Tobias was standing next to Higgins' desk watching he and George banter back and forth about something. "I don't know," he admitted. "It pains me to say, but I fear that George is too close to this to do such a thing."

Murdoch nodded. "I agree with Watts," he said. "But the boy also has a history of clamming up when anything about that night is mentioned. I don't know that any of us are going to get any further information from him no matter _who_ is doing the questioning."

"Then Thatcher walks," Brackenreid reminded them. He sighed. "I don't want us to traumatize the boy, but it's either that or let a murderer go free."

"Then it should be one of us," Watts said quickly, gesturing between himself and Murdoch.

Brackenreid nodded. "See to it then." He looked at the two of them. "Which one o' you is going to be?"

"I've known George longer," Murdoch said. His shoulders slumped. "I think he'll eventually forgive me."

Watts shook his head. "It's my case," he told Murdoch. "I'll go." He turned quickly and left the office.

Murdoch and Brackenreid exchanged a look. "Have you ever seen him raise his voice?" Brackenreid asked the detective dubiously.

The other man watched Watts pause in the bullpen, steeling himself. "No," Murdoch said, watching Watts head into his office. "This should be…interesting."

* * *

George and Tobias both looked up as Watts entered. "Tobias, we need to know what you saw the night your sister was killed," Watts announced.

George shot him a Look as Tobias instantly grabbed ahold of George's arm, nearly cutting off the circulation above his elbow. "Watts? What-"

"We're out of time," Watts said flatly. "If Tobias can't tell us what he saw that night, the man we have in custody goes free. He needs to tell us. This is our last chance."

George looked at Tobias, then to his coworker. "Isn't that reaction enough?"

"You know as well as I do it's not," Watts said firmly. "He's the only thing we've got linking the killer to the crime, and I need to know what he knows _now_." He punched the last word, his dark eyes boring into Tobias's. "You need to tell me, Tobias."

Tobias looked up at George in a panic. "He's not going to help you with this," Watts barked. "Tell me what you saw!"

"Watts…" George said warningly, taking a step forward.

"You're letting your feelings for him take over what you know needs to be done for this case," Watts informed him. "Are you going to let a killer go free, George?" He looked at Tobias. "You're a Constable, Tobias, this is part of your job."

"He's just a boy, Watts!" George yelled.

"You made him a constable, remember?" Watts countered.

"Watts-" George clenched a fist, acutely aware that they were drawing a crowd. He felt a hand tug on his arm, and he looked down at Tobias, who was practically hanging on his arm. In a tightly controlled voice, he looked at Tobias. "Tobias," he said. "Did you see what happened in the alley that night?"

Tobias raised his head and looked at George.

Then, he shook his head.

* * *

George threw open the Inspector's door so quickly the glass in the frame rattled. It was enough to startle both the Inspector and Murdoch, who had only heard bits and pieces of the argument through both sets of closed doors.

"Crabtree!" Brackenreid thundered. "What in the bloody hell-"

He didn't finish the exclamation. Didn't need to. The look on George's face said it all, followed by Watts' quick shake of the head as he stepped out of Murdoch's office.

"You can't just let him walk out of here," George hissed. Brackenreid had never seen George Crabtree like this in all of his years at Station House 4. The young man could be adamant, and earnest, and even argumentative, but never _angry_.

At least, not like this. George Crabtree was a terrifying sonofabitch when he was angry.

"I have nothing connecting him to the murder, George." Murdoch's tone was straightforward. "I have nothing physically to connect him to Rebecca Fisher's death," Murdoch continued. "It was dark, even Tobias can't be sure of what he saw."

Out in the bullpen, Tobias crept across the floor from Murdoch's office to Henry Higgins' desk. He poked his head around Henry's shoulder, startling the constable. The look on the boy's face, however, prevented Henry from reprimanding him. Instead, Henry laid a hand on Tobias's shoulder. Tobias bit his lip, and the two of them watched through the window.

"How about the fact that he lied through the entire interview?" George asked. "That he's here looking for his _wife_ , when we know Rebecca Fisher wasn't married." Murdoch eyed him curiously, wondering how George knew all of this.

_Julia._

"George, all we have to go on his the word of a scared young boy," Murdoch tried to explain. "And a scribbled note. And we don't even have that from Tobias." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "We should also look into Rebecca's coworkers at the laundry," he said. "Watts said one of them was less than helpful, we should see if she knows anything."

"Detective, it's _Thatcher_!" George burst out, pounding his hands on the Inspector's desk.

The Inspector stood up, ready for a fight, but Murdoch held up a hand. Brackenreid bristled, but held his tongue. Murdoch looked at George. "Is it?" he questioned. "Or is that you _want_ it to be him?" He stood up, coming around the Inspector's desk. "George, I know how protective you are of Tobias. We _all_ are," he added, gesturing around the building with his hand. "But we _cannot_ allow our attachment to him to affect how we do our jobs."

George was silent, staring at the detective sullenly. "Sir, I _know_ it's him," he said quietly. "I just…call it intuition, or whatever you want, but I _know_ that it's him."

"And you may be right," Murdoch told him. "But we have to _prove_ it." He looked at the clock, then at George. "Go home, George."

"Sir-"

"Take Tobias with you, and go home. He could probably use a meal, and you need to cool off. Come back in the morning ready to _work_ ," the Inspector said meaningfully. His tone suggested it was the end of the conversation, and George shook his head as he left the Inspector's office.

He looked at Tobias, who was standing quietly next to Higgins, wide-eyed. Even Henry seemed shocked at what had just transpired. "Come on, Tobias, let's go," he said quietly as he held out a hand for the boy.

Tobias bit his lip and followed George out of the bullpen.

* * *

George was steaming as the two of them walked toward the diner. The night was warm, but it felt even hotter to George.

He stopped mid-stride, realizing that Tobias had said something to him. He looked down at the boy, who was digging an indent into the dirt with the toe of his shoe. "I'm sorry, Tobias, what was that?" he apologized. It didn't pay to take it out on the boy.

Not when he knew this was his fault.

Tobias whispered something, refusing to look up at George. "I didn't catch that," George said, bending down so he was eye level with him. "Once more?"

"…I'm sorry," Tobias whispered.

George sighed. "Oh. Tobias…it's all right."

The boy shook his head. "It's not," he said softly. "I didn't do my job as a constable," he told George.

"Tobias, that was all…it was just a bit of fun, really," George reassured him. "We didn't-"

"I wanted to be brave, like you," Tobias told him. "But I was too scared."

"Tobias, we all get scared sometimes in our line of work," George told him, moving him out of the way and into a side street. "Even I do. And the detective, and probably even the Inspector, I should think."

"Really?" Tobias didn't seem as if he believed him.

George nodded. "All the time. I think being scared helps sometimes, because you know you need to do the right thing so that you don't get into trouble," he explained. He thought about moments ago, and bit the inside of his cheek. "I didn't do a very good job of that just now," he admitted. "The truth is Tobias, I'm scared like you are."

"You are?"

"I am," George confessed. "We've ah, we've gotten to be pretty good friends, I think...and I'm afraid of what happens when this case is over, and we arrest the bad man and he goes to jail."

"And we don't know what will happen after that?" Tobias asked him.

George shook his head. "I don't."

Tobias smiled. "I'll still be your friend," he promised him.

George put a hand on Tobias's shoulder. "You will, huh?" He smiled at the boy's earnest nod of the head. "Well, I'll still be your friend too," he assured him. "No matter what."

"What about me, _Travis_?"

George and Tobias both froze, looking up to see Donovan Thatcher stumbling toward them, a whiskey bottle clenched in his right hand. "I thought we were friends, too."


	8. Chapter 7

**8:30 PM**

Donovan Thatcher lurched toward George, and the constable took a step back, keeping Tobias shielded behind him. "Travis, you don't remember me?" he slurred.

By the way the boy was trembling, George was fairly certain that he did indeed…and it wasn't a fond memory.

"I came here to find you and your sister," Thatcher said. "And bring you home."

"I don't want to go with you," Tobias said. "You're scary." Thatcher leered at him, and Tobias ducked behind George's leg.

Thatcher glared at Tobias. "I never liked you, boy. But you came along with your sister-and it was her that I wanted."

"You should stop talking," George said, making it blatantly clear that was _not_ a suggestion. He kept one hand on Tobias's arm, the other hovered just above his night stick.

"She tried to run from me. Said she was afraid of me," Thatcher said. "But I was _good_ to her. I was _good_ for her. She thought she could get away, come running to Canada, but my friend at the harbor, he seen her." He took a step toward George and Tobias. George held his ground.

"I wanted her to come home," Thatcher said, and for a moment, he almost sounded sincere. "I tried to talk some sense into her, but she didn't listen. She _wouldn_ 'tlisten!" His voice broke. "I tried to-to make her listen to me." He swallowed. "But she wouldn't. So I had to…I had to-" He blinked, and looked at Tobias. "And _you._ You saw everything, didn't you. Told these coppers I was the bad guy, didn't you?"

"You yelled at Becky," Tobias said quietly, and George looked down at him in surprise. "She yelled at you, and you grabbed her. And then you didn't let go, and she-"

_And there it is._

"Shut your damn mouth!"

George tensed. Thatcher's eyes were wild, and he could see it in his body language, Thatcher was about to do something _very_ stupid. The other man was screaming now. "She ran away because of _you!_ Well, I'm not going to jail because of you, too!"

Thatcher blitzed, running at them. George dodged a punch, grabbed Thatcher's arm and bent it backwards. "Tobias, get _out_ of here!" he ordered the boy harshly. Tobias stood, frozen, as Thatcher wrested himself from George's grip, knocking him backwards, and came at the boy, grabbing Tobias by the collar. George grabbed him from behind and spun him around, batting his hand away from the boy. " _Now!_ " he roared, and Tobias took off down the laneway.

"No!" Thatcher yelled, lashing out with a foot, catching George in the knee. George dropped to one knee, and Thatcher swung at him again, catching him on the side of the helmet. He yelped in pain as George staggered, fumbling for his whistle. He knew there had to be someone in the vicinity, if he could just-

"Oof!" George hit the cobblestones and the breath went out from him. Thatcher was on top of him, his big hands reaching for George's neck.

* * *

_**STATION HOUSE 4  
Around that same time** _

_Sir, it's_ Thatcher!

William Murdoch sat at his desk, hands clasped on the top, deep in thought. George's words kept running through his mind. And Murdoch knew he was right. They had no evidence, but he knew it was the truth. Donovan Thatcher had murdered Rebecca Fisher. _The woman forged a passport to get from the United States to here, she hid in a closed boarding house, wouldn't allow her brother to play outside in the daylight..._

Two sharp raps shook Murdoch out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see Constables Armstrong and McNabb standing in his doorway.

"Sorry, sir," McNabb said apologetically, "but um," here he looked at Armstrong, "Well, we have some information we think you'll want to hear."

"The Inspector, and Detective Watts too," Armstrong added.

"And probably the rest of the lads," McNabb finished.

Murdoch studied the two of them for a moment, then nodded. "Gather everyone around, then," he said, getting up and following them out to the bullpen as they roused the others from inside Station House 4. A few minutes later, the two detectives, Inspector Brackenreid, and Constables McNabb, Lutz, Baker, Winton, Higgins, and Armstrong were all gathered in the bullpen.

Higgins stayed seated at his desk, looking across at an empty chair. It didn't feel right, he thought, that George wasn't there with them all.

"Go on then, lads," Inspector Brackenreid said. "What've you got?"

"Well, sir," Armstrong said, glancing at McNabb. "We, ah, we got the idea to take a photo of Tobias's picture-you know, the one out of the book, there," he pointed back to Murdoch's desk. "And we, well, we went around asking questions down at the docks."

The Inspector raised an eyebrow. "Awfully forward of you two," he noted, glancing sideways at Murdoch. "What did you find?"

Armstrong grinned. "We found a man who remembers a ship coming in from New York, and Donovan Thatcher was on it- three days ago."

Murdoch looked at Watts. "That's before the murder," Watts pointed out.

"And contradicts what Thatcher told me," Murdoch agreed. "So he _was_ in Toronto at the time of Rebecca Fisher's murder."

"We also described Miss Fisher and Tobias as we asked around," McNabb continued. "He said Thatcher asked about a woman who looked like her, said he didn't remember her _but_ his wife works at a laundry and there's a woman there who sounds just like her-and she's got a little boy. His wife said she didn't talk much and seemed a bit-" He thought a moment. "Well, _haughty_ was the word he said his wife used."

"That's how Thatcher found Rebecca. He must have followed her home from work." Murdoch realized.

"And Tobias…er, Travis… was playing outside and heard his sister in the alley," Watts picked up the story.

"George was right," Murdoch said. "Donovan Thatcher came here looking for her. He found her, and he killed her."

"Sir!" Henry stood up so fast he nearly knocked his chair over. "Sir, George and Tobias are out there right now, and Thatcher left shortly after."

"We need to find George and Tobias," Watts said.

"I know where he usually grabs supper," Henry said, reaching for his helmet.

"I'll go with you, Henry," McNabb said

"Lads, we also need to find Donovan Thatcher," Inspector Brackenreid said, snapping his fingers. "Every man, drop what you're doing, and get out there!"

* * *

**8:40 PM**

George twisted underneath him, trying to throw him off, but Thatcher had a few pounds on him. He brought his knees up, trying to knock Thatcher loose. The edges of his vision were starting to gray.

"Hey!"

"Get off him!"

George would've breathed a sigh of relief, if he could. _Higgins. McNabb. Dear God, just in time._

Someone grabbed Thatcher, wrenched his hands off George's neck, and he greedily gasped for air. George rolled himself to his hands and knees, breathing heavily, and he looked up to see Higgins and McNabb hauling Thatcher to his feet and cuffing his arms behind him.

"George! You all right?" Henry Higgins demanded, looking his partner up and down.

George nodded, as he climbed to his feet, digging a finger between his collar and his neck, trying to get some space. "Doing better now," he admitted. Then, his eyes widened. "Tobias. He took off. We need to-"

"George!"

Henry, George and McNabb looked up to see Constables Baker and Lutz coming toward them from the laneway. Lutz held out his hand. In it was a shiny, silver 4.

"That's mine," George breathed. "It must've come loose from the back when _he_ -" Here he glared daggers at Thatcher, was sitting on his knees next to McNabb. "Where did you find it?"

Lutz jerked his head back toward the way they'd come. "On the street. Out in front of the old Reardon," he explained.

"Tobias must have gone inside to hide," George said, remembering Tobias's words. _I'm good at hiding._ "We've got to find him. That place could come down any second." He snapped his fingers at Lutz. "Go back to Station House 4 and get the Inspector and the Detectives."

"They're already out, on their way," Baker reported.

"Good. Well, get them here as fast as you can. And find the person who built the hotel." He thought of the imposing, 4-story structure. "That place could come down any second; we need to know what it looks like in there so we have an idea of where to start looking."

* * *

_**The Reardon Hotel  
9:25 PM** _

" _George!"_ Henry dropped to his hands and knees and peered through the floor, his torch trying to cut through the dust and wood splinters. _Oh God._ "George! Are you all right? Boys! George fell through the third floor-is he-"

"Henry." Higgins paused as he heard his name. He peered over the side of the hole as much as he dared. His light caught a glint of something silver-a maple leaf.

George Crabtree sat up slowly, testing his limbs to make sure nothing was broken. "My bell has already been rung plenty tonight, Higgins," he groaned. "The yelling is not helping."

"George! Thank God, you're all right!" Henry grinned. "Any sign of Tobias?"

George rolled his eyes, not caring if Henry saw. "No…just stars," he bit, carefully getting to his feet. He blinked, his vision swimming. "Any sign of Tobias?" he asked.

"No. Nothing."

George coughed, waving his hand in front of him to clear the air. "Tobias?" he called, his voice ragged. "Come on, Tobias, it's all right!"

_Where would I hide_? He tried to think like Tobias.

"George!"

George turned to see Detective Watts step into the room behind him. "No sign of him on the upper floors," Watts reported. He looked at the dirt and cuts on George's face and hands. "I take it you've not found him either."

"No." George swore, another surprising first for Watts. "He's got to be here. But where?"

"Perhaps instead of looking up, we should be looking down," Watts suggested. George looked at him sideways, and he clarified, "Rebecca had them hiding in the basement of the old boarding house."

"So maybe he's in the basement here…if there is one." George nodded. "All right. Let's go have a look."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Watts asked him.

"'m fine," George said, ignoring his swimming vision. "Let's just go get him before this place comes down around our ears."

Watts nodded in agreement. "At least in the basement, there's no floor to fall through," he pointed out.

" _Really_ , Watts?" George groaned, limping past him for the door.


	9. Chapter 8

**_REARDON HOTEL  
_ _9:50 PM_   
**

Detective Murdoch and Inspector Brackenreid looked up as Henry Higgins came out of the hotel, tugging off his helmet and resting his hands on his knees. "Henry, we heard yelling. Is everything all right?" Murdoch asked.

Higgins nodded. "Yes, sir. George fell through the floorboards in one of the rooms, but he's all right."

The two older men exchanged a look. _If that's Henry's definition of 'all right'…_ Murdoch shook his head. "Is your floor cleared, then?"

"No sign of him on the third floor, sir," Henry reported.

The Inspector took a pen and marked an _X_ through the rooms on the third floor. "That leaves four and the main floor," he noted.

"Nothing on 4, Inspector," McNabb cut in, coming to join the group. Next to him, Lutz confirmed his statement with a nod.

"Has anyone seen Detective Watts skulking about in there?" Brackenreid asked.

"Yes, sir, he and George are still inside. I thought I heard someone say something about the basement."

"Is there a basement?" Murdoch turned to Harold Merton, the contractor who had worked on the hotel. Merton rolled the top pages back and pointed. "Small one, storage, laundry room," he said. "Coal chute opens out into the alley-there." He tapped a spot on the plans.

From inside the hotel, the group outside heard someone yell, " _Look out!"_ There was a loud crash.

The group waited with baited breath, watching the front entrance intently. Murdoch's fingers gripped the back of the wagon with a white-knuckle grip.

It was McNabb who spotted them first. "Armstrong!" he yelled, rushing forward to help the older man as he jogged out of the hotel, clutching his right arm, followed by Baker. "Are you all right, man?" he asked.

Armstrong nodded. "Fine. Light fixture fell off the ceiling," he breathed. "Just barely got me, clipped me on the shoulder."

"That's everyone out but Watts and Crabtree," Brackenreid said. Winton had drawn the short straw to escort Thatcher back to the Station House, and he hadn't been happy with it. Brackenreid looked at the crumbling façade of the building. "Five minutes," he told Murdoch. "Five minutes, and we're pulling them out."

Murdoch nodded. "That's not a lot of time."

"No, it isn't," Brackenreid agreed, "but I don't think the Reardon is going to hold up much longer than that."

* * *

"Here, there's a door here," George noted.

Watts played his torch over the door, noting that it was hanging by its' hinges. "Just enough room for someone small to squeeze through," Watts said. He grabbed the door handle and it came off in his hands.

George stood next to him, grabbed onto the door. "On three?"

Watts nodded, gripping the door. "One…two… _three_." The two of them pulled, and the door wrenched itself off its' remaining hinge and nearly fell on top of them. Watts staggered, setting the door aside as the two of them looked down into the gaping hole that was the basement. "Tobias?" George called, shining his light into the darkness. Something chittered in the silence and George shivered. "Tobias, it's George and Detective Watts! It's safe to come out!"

Silence.

Then, "George?"

George perked up, looked up at Watts. "That's Tobias. Tobias?" he yelled. "Tobias, where are you?" He shook his head. "We're going to have to go down there," he told Watts.

"I…I'm not sure that's wise," Watts said.

"I'm not leaving him down there," George said. Around them, the building creaked.

"I don't think the hotel appreciates us traipsing about and breaking it," Watts said, his eyes flickering around them.

"All right," George said. "You head out, tell Detective Murdoch and the Inspector where I'm going to be." With that, he headed down into the inky darkness, keeping his light trained on the steps so he could see where he was going. It wasn't too many steps, and he was soon at the bottom, a dirt floor meeting his boots. "Tobias? Where-"

"Here! I'm stuck!"

George followed the small voice through a bricked archway and found himself in what must have been the hotel's old laundry. He shone his light around the room, looking for Tobias. He spotted him, crouched behind a washer. Eerily reminiscent of their first meeting, George could just see Tobias's eyes in the darkness. "Tobias!" he breathed, relieved. "What are you doing back there?"

"Y-you told me to run," Tobias stuttered. "So I did, I went to find a hiding place."

George coughed. "And you did a fine job of that, Tobias," he praised him. "But why didn't you come out when you heard all of us calling for you?"

The boy's eyes were frightened. "I heard you, and I tried to come out, but then I got stuck!"

George looked around. A ceiling beam had cracked, partially blocking Tobias's escape route out of his hiding place. George crouched down with his light, shining it back in the corner. "I'm glad you're all right," George told him. "You really are good at hiding."

Tobias nodded. "I want to go home."

George's heart thudded in his chest. "I know, Tobias. All right. Here's what we're going to do."

He heard a groan, and dirt rained down on his shoulders and the back of his neck. "Quickly," George added. "Tobias, I'm going to lift this up and you're going to crawl out, all right?"

The boy nodded. "Good. Here we go." George slid his light through to the boy, and placed both hands under the large beam. His hands stung from the dirt and the dust in the air as it connected with the scrapes and scratches on his fingers. "Here we go," he said again. He started lifting the piece of wood, straining at the weight of it. "Argh…all right, Tobias, let's _go_." George grit his teeth and lifted with his knees. Tobias inched his way out, pushing the light ahead of him. "Faster, Tobias. I don't know if I can-"

"I'm out!" Tobias announced, and George dropped the beam. Tobias flew into his arms and George wrapped his arms around him tightly, ignoring the pain in his arms and back. "Let's get out of here, huh?" George whispered, and Tobias nodded into his uniform jacket. George stood up carefully, Tobias wrapped around his torso, torch in his small hands wrapped around George's neck. George made his way to the stairs, feeling in the dark for each step.

"Good to see you, Constable," Watts's voice startled him, nearly sending George and the boy toppling back down the stairs. George shot him a glare that Watts could see even without the torchlight.

"Watts, so help me, if you do that again, I will push you down those stairs myself."

Even with the relief in George's voice, Watts understood that he'd just done something he shouldn't have. Watts reached out a hand and grabbed George's sleeve, helping pull the other man up to the landing. "And you as well, young man," Watts added, noting Tobias. "Shall we?"

"Please," George agreed hastily. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

_**STATION HOUSE #4  
11:00 PM** _

Julia came out of Inspector Brackenreid's office, closing the door quietly behind her. "Tobias is just fine," she said in a low voice as she joined Murdoch, Watts, George and the Inspector out in the bullpen. "He's fast asleep and looks no worse for the wear."

"Wish we could all say that," George muttered, holding an ice pack to the back of his head gingerly. He looked up at the detectives. "And Thatcher?"

The Inspector jerked a thumb back toward the cells. "Bunked down for the night," he said.

"Lucky him," George said darkly.

"Excuse me, Inspector?"

The group looked up to see Constable McNabb, taking over for Armstrong, who had gone home with a bruised shoulder that Julia had had to pop back into place for him. McNabb was being followed in by a man and a woman about the Inspector's age, wearing traveling clothes. George looked at them. It could've been his headache, or the throbbing in his elbows and back, but the man looked like an older version of Tobias, or how George thought Tobias might look as he grew up.

"Inspector, this is Mr. and Mrs. John Fisher."

The woman looked at them. "Rebecca Fisher was our granddaughter," she explained to them.

George felt his heart catch. These were Tobias's family.


	10. Epilogue

**_Station House 4_   
_11:05 PM_ **

All eyes in the bullpen turned to George. He felt the back of his neck getting warm, and a hand drifted up to rub the back of his neck. The Inspector cleared his throat and suddenly, everyone had other places to be. George pushed himself off the desk with the less-bruised hand and stepped forward, along with Detective Watts.

"Mr. and Mrs. Fisher, this is Detective Watts and Constable George Crabtree," Murdoch introduced them, pointing to each in turn. "They were the ones assigned to your daughter's case."

"I…wish it would have had a better ending for your daughter," Watts said, shaking John Fisher's hand.

"As do we, Detective," John said, but it wasn't a comment made in judgment. "As long as Donovan Thatcher can't hurt our family any longer."

"He'll not be a problem," Watts assured him, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

His wife was looking at George. "Is our grandson, is he-"

George blinked, realizing she was talking to him. "Oh, uh," he stammered. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and tried again. "Tob-Travis, is sleeping in the Inspector's office. He's doing just fine." His voice sounded tired, and he wasn't sure if it was from the action of the past few days or the circumstances he found himself in now. "Would you…would you like to see him, Mrs. Fisher?"

"Clara, please," she corrected him. "And yes, if…if that wouldn't be too much trouble."

George smiled. "Of course not." He gestured toward the Inspector's office and led the two of them over to the door, easing it open gently so he wouldn't disturb the boy, quietly snoring away on the Inspector's couch.

John and Clara Fisher stopped in the doorway. "Our angel," Clara whispered, pressing a hand to her heart. "Oh, thank God he's all right."

"Thank you, Constable, for looking after him," John said, shaking George's hand.

"Your grandson is a good lad," George said softly. "It was my pleasure." He took a step backwards toward the Inspector's desk and let the two of them make their way to Travis, catching the eye of Detective Murdoch over their backs out the window. He sighed.

John gently shook Travis's shoulder. "Travis. Travis, wake up. It's your papa."

Travis opened one eye and then the other, looking up at them. He smiled sleepily. "Hi, Papa," he whispered, letting them wrap him in a fierce hug.

George took that as a sign and took his leave, stealing out the door to join the others in the bullpen. "Well, that's it, I suppose," he said. "All's well that ends well." He picked his helmet off his desk, tucked it under his arm. "Sirs…Dr. Ogden. I think I'll call it an evening. Still a mite sore from the fall, and all that."

"George-" Murdoch started, but his friend just shook his head.

"I'll see you all in the morning. Good night."

Henry tried to stop him on his way out the door, but George shrugged his friend's hand off his arm and continued outside. Out in the night air, George slumped against the side of the station house, his head in his hands.

* * *

The group was still staring after him in quiet empathy when the Fishers came out of the office, Travis holding onto their hands. "What happens now?" Julia questioned them.

"Oh, we'll return to Rochester, I suppose," Clara said. "Try to make something of our…our new family." Her voice caught and Julia rested a hand on her arm tenderly. "We were worried when she brought Donovan over for the first time. Something just didn't seem…right. We never…had we known that he was-" Clara put a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the tears.

"We only wish Rebecca would've come to us instead of running," John said. "We could have…could have helped, if we'd known…"

"She was like her mother in that respect," Clara said softly. She cupped Travis's chin and he smiled, leaning into her dress. "Headstrong, and always wanting to do what she thought was the right thing for everyone."

"Can we get you a ride to where you're staying?" the Inspector offered. The events of the night merited a scotch, but he wasn't about to get it while the Fishers were still there.

"Oh, w-we don't-" Clara began.

Her husband continued, "We came straight from the train," he replied. "I suppose it is past this one's bedtime, and we should head out in the morning."

Julia nudged Murdoch, and the detective said, "It just so happens we've a residence at the Windsor Hotel," he spoke up. "I'm sure we could pull some strings for you."

"That would be wonderful," John said. "Thank you." He looked around the room, at Watts and the Inspector, at Constables McNabb and Higgins, at Julia and Murdoch. "Thank you, everyone."

"Just doing our job," Watts assured them.

"Where is George?" Travis asked suddenly, just realizing that the other man wasn't there.

The group from Station House 4 looked at one another. Watts crouched down so that he was eye level with the boy. "George was…not feeling well after the incident at the hotel. He took a fall. I'm sure he went home to rest."

"But he didn't say goodbye," Travis said forlornly.

The adults in the room all exchanged glances. "Perhaps we can stop by in the morning before we leave for New York," his grandmother suggested.

"Well, of course you can," the Inspector said. "After all, you've got some papers to sign for your transfer, Constable."

Tobias grinned, even as his grandparents looked on in confusion.

"We'll explain in the morning," Murdoch told them with a smile.

* * *

_**STATION HOUSE 4  
The following morning** _

"How's the shoulder, Armstrong?" George Crabtree asked as he came into the station house the next morning.

The other man rolled his shoulder and shot him half a smile. "Still there," he said. "And you? Still seeing double?"

"Down to one, now, and that's a blessing because if there'd be two of you, we'd have a world of problems," George joked. He punched in and sat down at his desk across from Higgins. "What's new in the world, Higgins?"

Henry blinked, looking at him. "Nothing near as exciting as about twelve hours ago," he said.

"Can't say that's a bad thing," George replied. He glanced at the stack of case files on his desk and sighed. "Back to it, I suppose."

"George-"

"Don't." George held up a hand, his tone hard, not even looking up at his partner. "Higgins, just don't. I'd as soon move on, if that's all right with you."

Henry debated whether or not to listen to that order, and then nodded. "All right," he said, and returned to the fingermark analysis he had in front of him.

* * *

George wasn't sure how much time had gone by as he continued to pluck away at his typewriter, occasionally pausing to unstick the keys. They were getting stuck more often than not today, and it was frustrating. Had Henry dared to speak to him, he would've mentioned to George that he was pounding them with unusual gusto this morning, but the stormy look on his partner's face deterred him from making any comments. He saw Detective Murdoch come in and shook his head when the Detective's expression asked how George was doing.

It was painfully obvious. Henry had to admit that the bullpen was too quiet today. He reached into his desk for a new pencil, and his eyes caught the Snakes and Ladders box tucked into the back of the drawer. He sighed. Though it would've taken a freight train to drag it out of him, he missed Tobias, too.

"Good morning, George," Detective Watt's voice rang out from just behind George's shoulder, making him jump. George slammed his pencil down on the desk and whirled to face the lanky detective.

"Watts, for the love of G-"

He broke off when he saw that Watts wasn't alone. John and Clara Fisher were standing with him, and inbetween them was-

"George!" Travis threw himself into George's arms, and George picked him up with the momentum, swinging him onto his hip. Travis put a hand on his hip and looked at George sternly. "You didn't say goodbye last night!" he accused him. "That's not what a partner should do."

Henry bit his lip to keep from laughing at the startled expression on George's face.

"Well, I-" George shook his head. "I suppose I didn't want to wake you up," he told him. "And to tell you the truth…" He looked around the room, noticing that a crowd was forming. In a low voice, he said, "The thought of saying goodbye to my partner makes me a little sad."

Travis threw his arms around him. "But George," he said into his shoulder, and pulled back to look him in the face, "you said we'd still be friends. That's a happy thing."

Murdoch glanced sideways with a smile playing on his lips at the Inspector, who nodded, amused.

George laughed. "You know what, Travis, you're absolutely right." He stood him on his chair, and reached into his uniform pocket. "That reminds me," he added, pulling something from his pocket. "I believe this belongs to you. You're out of uniform this morning."

Travis peeled his fingers away to reveal a silver #4 pin. The pin had been straightened out, and George had made a makeshift back for it out of some material he'd found lying around his boarding house. The boy's eyes widened in surprise, and George pinned it to Travis's collar once more. "Something to remember us by," he said. "And to remind you that a constable is brave, and loyal, and looks out for his friends."

Travis saluted him. "Yes sir!" he said proudly, and the station house broke into applause. George returned the salute and then set him back on the floor.

Detective Murdoch stepped forward, and shook Tobias's hand. "You take care of yourself, young man," he told him. "Look out for your grandparents."

Tobias nodded seriously. "I will," he said.

"And come back for a visit, eh?" Inspector Brackenreid told him. "You're welcome anytime."

"Okay!"

John Fisher produced a pocket watch from his breast pocket and consulted it. "Travis, we'd best get a move on, we'll miss our train."

Travis nodded, and looked back up at George. George mussed his hair. "I'm going to miss you, partner," he told him.

"I'll miss you too…partner." Travis smiled, and gave him one final hug. Then, he took his grandfather's hand and the family walked out together. George crossed his arms over his chest and watched them go, but this time, he was smiling.

* * *

"Are you all right, George?" Henry asked him later as the two of them walked their beat.

"I'm fine," George replied, meaning it. "I think I realized that as much as I likes having Tobias around…him being with his family is the best thing for him, and that's all I wanted for him was what was best in the first place."

"You know," Henry said, as they walked a little farther, "you're going to make an excellent father someday."

George stopped mid-stride and looked at Henry. "I…thank you, Henry, I think that's one of the most sincere compliments you've ever paid me!"

Henry shrugged. "What? It's the truth. Just…don't get used to it." He smiled, and the two of them laughed.

Something bumped into George's leg, and he looked down to see a ball resting near his boot. He picked it up and looked, noticing three boys across the street. He looked at the ball in his hands, then, unclipped his helmet and handed it to Henry.

"George, what are you-"

"Tell the Inspector I'll be back after lunch," George told his partner, grinning. He spun the ball in his hands, and jogged across the street, tossing the ball back to them. The boys broke into a smile, and then pretty soon, the group took off down a side street.

Henry looked at the helmet in his hands, then back to where George had run off. Smiling, and shaking his head, he took off after them.

_Fin._


End file.
